Column: Driving range employee pelted with golf balls

Published: Monday, May 12, 2014 at 09:40 PM.

Me: “How about if I take the kids somewhere Saturday so you can have a day to yourself?”

Wife: “They’ll probably want to do something with me.”

Me: “Want me to rent a harpoon so you can put me out of my misery?”

For the record, she never said no to the last question, but we decided on a trip to the beach. The voyage would take place on Saturday and we would rendezvous with my parents, my sister, her husband and Cousin Tax Deduction.

When Saturday came, I got up early-thirty with the intention of gassing up the car and running it through the car wash. I arrived at Sam’s gas station in Little Baltimore at 7:15 a.m. Usually I pay at the pump, but wishing to rekindle my love affair with Nabs, I went inside. I prepaid for the gas, enjoyed a bit of Lance-made goodness and headed to the car wash.

Last Friday after typing up enough arrest reports to prop up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, I shut the ol’ computer down and tried to figure out what to do for The Wife in regards to Mother’s Day.

There is no better present than a gift card, and all of you people out there gasping for air at that revelation can just shut it. My love of gift cards has nothing to do with laziness. How better to make sure the person you’re shopping for will end up with something they truly want/need?

When it comes to buying a Mother’s Day gift for my mother (Mama, actually), I’ll be 100 percent honest and say The Wife is the creative engine driving that bus. The last time I ventured out on my own in regards to a Mother’s Day present, my mama ended up with the complete three-year run of the TV show “What’s Happening!!” on DVD.

Even though I got her the deluxe “Hey Hay Hey” edition signed by Fred “Rerun” Berry, she’s yet to break the cellophane on it. Now that unopened “What’s Happening!!” box set sits on a shelf at my parents house, turned to the side featuring a photo of Raj’s mom looking at him in a disappointed fashion.

I feel you, Raj.

The Wife suggested a gift card to “Bed, Bath and Beyond” would be a good Mother’s Day gift for two reasons: 1), because Mama likes the store, and 2) because there’s no way she’d be able to spend the gift card on something for Tax Deductions 1, 2 or their cousin, who I’ll refer to as Cousin Tax Deduction.

Now all that was left to do was figure out what to do for The Wife on Mother’s Day.

Me: “What would you like to do for Mother’s Day?”

Wife: “I don’t know.”

Me: “A few years back we did brunch and I took you to the outlets in Smithfield. Want to do that?”

Wife: “We can.”

Me: “I know we can; do you want to?”

Wife: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Is there anywhere you’d like to go for dinner?”

Wife: “Hmmm ... not really.”

Me: “How about if I take the kids somewhere Saturday so you can have a day to yourself?”

Wife: “They’ll probably want to do something with me.”

Me: “Want me to rent a harpoon so you can put me out of my misery?”

For the record, she never said no to the last question, but we decided on a trip to the beach. The voyage would take place on Saturday and we would rendezvous with my parents, my sister, her husband and Cousin Tax Deduction.

When Saturday came, I got up early-thirty with the intention of gassing up the car and running it through the car wash. I arrived at Sam’s gas station in Little Baltimore at 7:15 a.m. Usually I pay at the pump, but wishing to rekindle my love affair with Nabs, I went inside. I prepaid for the gas, enjoyed a bit of Lance-made goodness and headed to the car wash.

I put in my $4 and sat back and marveled as the brilliant machine knocked a good chunk of the pollen and bug remnants off of my car. Next, I pulled up to the vacuum, plopped in a few quarters and gave the interior a good once-over. With that job done, I got back behind the wheel and realized I’d forgotten to pump the gas that I paid for not 10 minutes earlier.

After I slammed the car door on my head a few times, I raced back to the gas station. I walked in and Sam was already laughing. I guess it’s not everyday that a gas station owner actually makes money on a drive-off.

Once we made it to the beach, my parents suggested a place called “Mac Daddy’s” for supper. They said it had lots of games the Tax Deductions and Cousin Tax Deduction would enjoy - specifically bowling.

When our entourage made it to Mac Daddy’s, The Wife and I split a hamburger that was the size of a hubcap, and it was good. After eating, we walked over to the bowling area to get the proper shoes for the kids. The woman at the shoe counter was very helpful and pretty soon the kids were putting on shoes that had already cradled hundreds of feet, yet were devoid of any noticeable herbs and/or spices.

Since two of the children in the trio were 4 years old, we asked the road scholar at the end of the counter for one of those ramps little kids use to bowl.

“Uh ... I don’t think we have any,” he said.

I was setting up the electronic scoreboard at the time, so I didn’t witness this part, but somehow my dad convinced him they probably had one. When Eeyore finally walked over to our lane carrying the kiddie bowling ramp, he looked as if someone had made him crawl to the bottom of an active volcano to retrieve a nail file. I assured him that it would be OK. Being forced to actually do something no doubt caused him to crank the Nickelback on his way home from work that night.

After bowling, we walked over to the driving range, and I remembered The Wife and I going there on a date long ago. I thought it would be romantic to get a bucket of golf balls and try to hit the guy driving the little tractor around that harvested the golf balls ... just like we used to.

I have to say The Wife still can’t really hit a golf ball, but she looked great trying. Having only played golf maybe three times on a public course in my entire life, I’m no Tiger Woods either.

At first, I was doing so-so, but then the guy in the little golf ball tractor emerged. About one minute into raking up the balls, he turned and looked at me. Then he pointed at me and started screaming. Apparently, he recognized me.

As the flurry of golf balls rained down on the poor fellow, his screams for mercy took me back to when The Wife and I first started dating. The last time I heard that guy beg for his life, The Wife was wearing a pretty sundress - much like the one she was wearing as the guy begged for his life on this day.

It’s funny how sounds can trigger such blissful memories.

We walked back to the car hand in hand, enjoying the night air and the pretty red ambulance lights as they bounced off the trees near the driving range. Apparently, the protective roof on the golf tractor was missing some Plexiglas and the poor guy took a few Titleists to the old noggin. Thank goodness the health care system has been fixed.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Jon Dawson’s humor columns appear every Tuesday and Thursday in The Free Press. Contact Jon at 252-559-1092 or jon.dawson@kinston.com. Purchase Jon’s new book of columns “Counterfeit Sauerkraut & The Weekend Teeth” at The Free Press office and jondawson.com.